The dining hall had been lit more generously than breakfast or noon meals ever were.
Not for his comfort. For theater.
Lord Berengar sat at the right hand place before Adrian even entered, as if age and branch seniority entitled him to test the boundaries of the chair itself. He was a large old man whose flesh had thickened where discipline should have been, with a neatly trimmed grey beard and the heavy-lidded eyes of someone who had long practiced patience as a form of possession.
At his side sat Alric Merrow, his son, younger by thirty years and subtler by none. Father Corren of the Church of the Radiant Path occupied the place farther down, all mild hands and polished sorrow. Oswin Vale stood behind his chair. Hugo Pell, round-faced and damp around the mouth, had already helped himself to wine. Sir Roderic Vane, captain of the household guard, remained stiff-backed and unreadable.
Evelyne was absent.
So was Julian.
That too was a decision someone had made by habit.
Adrian took his seat at the head of the table and let the silence lengthen until several men grew uncomfortable enough to glance at one another.
"You have all made yourselves at home," he said.
Berengar's smile appeared, warm and false. "Family should be close in times of difficulty. We were relieved by your recovery, Adrian. A bad fall can alter a man."
"I should hope so," Adrian replied. "It would be a waste otherwise."
The first course arrived. Thin broth, too heavily salted to disguise that the kitchen economized.
Berengar dabbed his lips. "Oswin tells me you have asked for every ledger in the county. Admirable diligence. Though one must take care not to overstrain after injury. There are matters better handled by those long accustomed to them."
"Such as losing the county seal?"
Oswin stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Berengar gave a little chuckle. "Always direct, eh? No harm done. The steward keeps such things in trust."
"Not anymore."
Father Corren folded his hands. "My lord, if I may speak plainly—these are precarious days. Precarious days demand harmony. The Church is prepared to show patience regarding overdue tithe obligations, but only if Greyfen presents a united face and proper humility."
"Humility toward God or toward your account books?" Adrian asked.
The priest's smile did not move. "Toward both, where appropriate."
Hugo Pell laughed into his cup and stopped when no one joined him.
Alric leaned forward. "The immediate question is practical. Master Cassel Dorn did not ride through winter mud for conversation. If we cannot satisfy the Bastion Exchange, he will move to secure pledged rights. Father speaks truly: this is no time for disruption."
"Which rights?" Adrian asked.
Alric blinked. "The bridge tolls, naturally. And certain salvage claims east of the old fort line."
"Naturally," Adrian said. "And who pledged them?"
A pause. Not because they did not know. Because they had not expected the question to be asked aloud.
Hugo cleared his throat. "Your lordship did, two years ago, in exchange for deferred payment—"
"Under my hand and seal?"
"Under lawful authority," Hugo said.
Adrian turned to him. "That was not the question."
The accountant looked toward Oswin, then back to his wine.
Sir Roderic, who had said nothing thus far, finally spoke. "The eastern salvage rights are worthless unless the roads are reopened."
"Then why are creditors so eager for them?" Adrian asked.
No one answered.
He looked from one face to the next and read the table as he had once read committee rooms. Berengar confident but cautious. Alric impatient. Oswin calculating. Hugo frightened whenever numbers threatened to become concrete. Father Corren alert to where secular weakness might become ecclesiastical leverage. Sir Roderic not yet aligned, which was useful.
Adrian set down his spoon. "Here is what will happen. Before tomorrow's noon bell I will have the county seal in my possession, every active debt contract in this house, and the full grain accounts for the county seat and western villages. Until then no document leaves Greyfen under my authority. No pledge is renewed. No concession discussed. No letter sent in my name."
Berengar's expression hardened for the first time. "You are speaking as if the county still had the luxury of procedure."
"Procedure is what remains when luxury has already failed."
"Do not be glib with me, boy."
Adrian's gaze met his evenly. "Then do not mistake my prior stupidity for permanent law."
The hall went still.
Even the servants near the wall looked up.
Berengar leaned back, studying him as if some impostor had taken Adrian Merrow's face and had not yet learned to wear it properly.
At last the old man smiled again, though no warmth remained in it. "Very well. We shall see what tomorrow brings."
"We will," Adrian said.
When the meal ended, Father Corren lingered just long enough to murmur, "A lord who quarrels with those keeping him afloat sometimes discovers too late who was holding the rope."
Adrian looked at the priest and thought of every structure that mistook dependence for sanctity.
"Then perhaps," he said, "it is time Greyfen learned to stand."